Conversation at 5:30 PM:
Demetri: I’ll totally hear the cat if he wants back in tonight.
Me: Um, I’m sorry, did you just say you’ll hear the cat? Scratching at the door?
Demetri: Yeah, I have Super Sonic Ears!
Me: Oooooooh kaaaaaaaaay.
I hear creaking and muffled thumps from the next room. Zoey is waking up. Demetri is snoring next to me, the covers pulled tight under his chin. Zoey begins to whimper. I pretend rollover shaking the bed as much as I can. The snoring continues. The whimpering has turned into crying. I do a kick like someone with restless leg syndrome might. I connect with my husband’s kneecap on the first try. He makes a wet, gulping sound and rolls away from me taking the blankets with him. Damn the king size bed! The snoring resumes. I pull on the blankets so the part that is tucked under his chin is now tight and noose like. He rolls back on his back, freeing his wind pipe. I think I see a little glimmer of drool slide from his mouth towards the pillow.* The crying intensifies: Yells that say You-are-incompetent-slacker-of-a-parent-Can-you-not-hear-me?! punctuated by hiccup-y breathing that says I-am-so-pathetic-and-cute-you-must-come-hold-me. I connect my elbow with Demetri’s nose via a thinly veiled Oh-no-I-am-having-a-scary-nightmare maneuver. I hear a muffled “ow”. He rolls toward me and attempts to get into the spooning position. I elbow him in the stomach. Zoey is wailing, BaaaaaBaaaaaaa!. My husband, who I promised to love no matter what, nudges me and whispers, “I think the baby is up. She wants you”. “I am NOT Baba,” I hiss back. “YOU are Baba.” “No” he says sleepily, “I’ve never been Baba. I’ve always been Dada.” I sit up. “Well, you are Baba tonight, Mr. Super Sonic Ears.” My kind, hot, amazing husband (Hi honey!) shuffles out of the room to get Zoey. I roll into my pillow, victorious. “Super sonic my ass.” Then a yell from the shadows of the hall: “I totally heard that!”
*For future reference, this is the point when I became officially bitter.